


Alone

by silentxsoul



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Background Mike/Amelia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 21:09:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8301175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentxsoul/pseuds/silentxsoul
Summary: In truth, he hated being alone. The solidarity and the silence was terrifying. He was always acutely aware of every sound in the world—sounds that would grow deafening as those around him filtered away to their own homes and families.





	

In truth, he hated being alone. The solidarity and the silence was terrifying. He was always acutely aware of every sound in the world—sounds that would grow deafening as those around him filtered away to their own homes and families. Throughout the year’s he was able to fill the void with the random hook ups and the eventual marriage to Rachel. But even Rachel started to leave him alone at night, and all too soon he was faced with the reality that he was simply destined to go at it alone through life.

Then he met Ginny Baker, a firey pitcher who cemented herself in baseball history as the first female Major League player. She was pure passion, as fierce as she was capable. In the short months that she’d been on his team she’d challenged everything he knew about the sport and then some. Baker was one of the greatest pitcher’s he’d had the pleasure of catching for, and not just because of her beautiful fucking screwball or devastating curveball that left batters swinging at empty air. 

Ginny Baker brought that team together in way he never thought possible, after dividing them so cleanly. She’d proved on a regular basis that she belonged there—something that half of those veterans didn’t do at all. She showed them up every chance she got and challenged the notion that women didn’t belong in sports. Along the way she’d inspired some and earned the respect of others. Mike would be lying if he didn’t say he admired her for it. 

And the best part? She really didn’t understand what kind of affect she’d had on the guys. This time last year—in the dead of August—they’d been in last place fighting each other to even muster the appearance of a team that wanted to be there. When Baker stepped into that clubhouse they’d been at their worst, but now? Now Mike was happy to step into the clubhouse every day and pull on the familiar Padre’s jersey. 

Ginny was a reminder of why he fell in love with this game in the first place, of why he gave his life to it. Her smart ass wit kept him on his toes and for the briefest of moments Mike could forget that at the end of the day he didn’t have anyone to go home to and just talk. Oh how he craved having that person to just talk too—he’d spilled this to Rachel in one last desperate attempt to win her back. The pity in her eyes as she told him of the engagement was reminder enough that he was in a pretty damn sad part of his life. 

_Alone._  

At first he’d tried to fight back, dig himself out of the hole he’d found himself stuck in. That’s when he’d hooked up with Amelia the first time. He honestly thought it would be a one and done thing—he didn’t know a fucking thing about her, and she knew nothing of him. But then she dropped by, and then he met her at her place. 

It felt wrong. He wasn’t sure why, really, because it was just sex between two people. But then again, maybe that was _why_ it was wrong. He felt nothing for her. He didn’t yearn to call her at night, to run with her with the exciting news that the new cryo-therapy was helping his knees. In fact most days she didn’t even cross his mind unless she showed up in his text messages or he ran across her somewhere at Petco Park. 

Or maybe it was because she was so close to Ginny Baker, the one woman who kept him going on a daily basis. Even on the days where he was so _fucking_ close to calling it a day and hanging up his cleats for the last time, she finds a way to make him forget his frustrations and baggage. There was a connection between them that he couldn’t quite explain (and he’d tried so hard to explain it, to rationalize it seven ways from Sunday) and it felt _wrong_ to be sneaking around with her agent. 

If you asked him he’d deny everything about the bond, but truthfully he was pretty sure it was that fucking bond that made sleeping with Amelia feel so dirty. Ginny Baker blew him away with everything she did. She captivated him. It was both frustrating and refreshing at the same time because while she made him feel like he was his 23-year-old self, fresh from his own call-up, it reminded him that whatever he thought he could find from that bond was completely off limits. He was her catcher and she was his pitcher—nothing more and nothing less. And that fucking hurt, maybe as much as the reality that he was totally alone in this world. 

His fling with Amelia ended for a variety of reasons (pick one and he’d just agree to it) and Mike was painfully aware of how he was still stuck at square one. Not that he’d spent many days in her company other than the hook up, or actually felt less alone in her company. It was more of a reminder that at 36 he still didn’t have a fucking clue what he was doing in life. 

Mike hated it. Hated how that in his tenure as a veteran catcher—the game’s most well composed component besides the pitcher—he’d failed to translate any success from the game to his life. Hated how other guys seemed to be able to balance ball and a life. He was insanely jealous of Blip and Evelyn, of how well put together they were. How utterly fucking perfect they were for each other. Soulmates, probably. 

He hated how even Stubbs had managed to find wife after wife (and each time be completely smitten despite the countless affairs he’d found out about). Hell even Miller had a lady to go home to. Everywhere he looked Mike was reminded of how utterly and painfully alone he was—and to an extent his ego reminded him how undesirable and unwanted he was. 

Mike knew that it was melodramatic to think that way, but after going home to an empty house almost every night since he’d turned 19, the fact that he’d had no one in his corner was pretty obvious. Even the three-year relationship with Rachel was spent with him on the road or holed up in a hotel by himself while she held down the house they’d bought in L.A. (no doubt hooking up with Doyle or Daniel, or whatever that prick’s name was). 

It had been a week since he and Amelia had ended their fling, and since that night he’d ended his days the same way: alone in an ice bath reflecting on the game and to a lesser extent, his life. He’d shrugged off the invitations to join Ginny and the guys at some club downtown, not really feeling up to blowing his money on dozens of shots that he’d never actually get to consume. The last of the team probably filtered out a while ago and Mike let a sigh escape his lips. Even the trainers had called it a night. 

With a scrunch of his face Mike eased himself out of the ice bath and quickly toweled off the lower half of his body before changing into a fresh set of clothes. Slowly he trudged back into the main part of the clubhouse and picked up his bag from his locker. He was acutely aware of each muffled step and of each ragged breath he took while willing his knees to unfreeze and move in a semi-normal fashion. It was the worst part of the ice-baths and cryo-therapy, but at the end of the day it was worth it not to feel the ache of worn muscles and damaged cartridge. 

Idly he glanced at his watch as he made his way out of the clubhouse and was surprised to see that it was a few minutes passed midnight. Mike couldn’t quite remember the last time he’d hung around the clubhouse so late. As he walked down the halls the sounds of his feet landing against the concrete floor echoed loudly. With a frown he clenched his jaw, willing his nerves to ease up. 

The dull ringing of his phone pulled his thoughts away from cursing each step, eyes lighting up as he read the name on the caller id. Flashing a grin (even though no one was around to see it), he cheerily answered the phone. 

“Rookie, miss me already?” 

In that moment Mike was completely aware of the affect she had on him. In one single phone call she’d brought him from his pity party to a state of semi-happiness, and she hadn’t even said a word yet. 

A melodic chuckle met his ears, “Every second of every day, old man. Are you home?”

“It’s good to know I’ve still got that effect on the ladies.” He responded, ignoring her sarcasm. “And no, I’m just now closing down the clubhouse.” 

“Fall asleep in the ice bath, again?” He could practically see the amused grin on her face (the same grin that taunted him on a daily basis). 

Mike scoffed into the phone as he pushed through the door that led to the private parking garage. “No!” 

“Lawson, you did, didn’t you?” she pressed. 

“No! I simply wanted to soak a bit longer…” And reflect on things, but he didn’t verbalize that. 

“Sure you did, old man. Anyway mind if I crash at your place tonight? My apartment manager just called and said they had to evacuate due to a fire in the kitchen. No one’s getting in until the morning at the earliest.” 

“As long as you promise not to walk around naked or eat all of my bacon, I think I can let you stay.” 

“Lawson!” He heard her snap—voice trying really hard to betray the laughter he knew she was stifling. 

“Was it the bacon thing? Is that a deal breaker? ‘Cause I guess I can stop by Walmart and pick up some more. Whattya eat, one-two pounds?” He’d found his car and popped the trunk, depositing is bag before lightly shutting it and sliding into the driver’s seat. 

“One pound will suffice, and no I don’t walk around naked.” 

Mike almost let the disappointment at that statement settle into his chest— _almost_. “Rookie, I’ve got exactly one pound of bacon left in my apartment and no real desire to hit up America’s greatest dumpster for some more so you’ll just have to settle on sharing.” 

There was silence for a moment as Ginny weighed her options. “That’s a tough request, Lawson. I suppose I’ll be fine with half of my normal intake. But if I pitch like shit tomorrow, we know who to blame.” 

“And if I catch like shit tomorrow, I can blame you too.” 

“Huh, uh. Nope. You’re the one who only has one pound of bacon, not me. You’re also the one who suggested sharing. You made your bed, old man, so lie in it.” 

Mike chuckled and started the car, switching his phone from one ear to the other. “Fine. Are you still downtown? I can swing by and get you on my way home.” 

There was another long pause, and Mike wondered idly if he'd lost her. Before he could inquire he could have sworn he heard her giggle (the kind of giggle she got when she'd done something funny at practice or in the dugout). “Actually.... I’m already at your place. The nice doorman let me in. I love your couch by the way—very modern but very comfortable.” 

“Jesus Baker!” He barked, trying not to let his laughter show that he was mildly impressed at the balls she had to break into his house and _then_ ask if she could spend the night. “You broke into my place?” 

He wasn’t really mad. Mike had a real problem getting mad at his pitcher, and on the rare occasion he did, he could never stay mad at her. It was a weakness and sometimes he wondered if she wasn’t aware of that fact because she sure did get away with a lot of shit. 

“Nah, the doorman let me in. Nice man, but you should probably fire him tomorrow morning.” 

Mike faked a sigh (that he knew she didn’t buy), “I’ll be home in ten. I’d tell you to make yourself at home, but...” 

Ginny’s laugh brought a smile to his lips as Mike ended the conversation and hit the road. The melodic sound replayed in his mind, drowning out the road noise that normally would have sent him into a mood halfway through his commute. For the first time in a long time Mike wasn’t afraid to go home, and suddenly he was very aware that Ginny Baker had a hold of him far beyond any bond. 

And he was fucked.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have a problem. 
> 
> I think I remember why I stopped writing all the time (hint: I have no self control)


End file.
